


Beneath The Skin

by jinsweeddealer



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gross Kinks, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Maggots, Masturbation, Mild Gore, Necrophilia, OC, Original Character(s), Other, Self-Hatred, Self-Indulgent, Superpowers, are these even KINKS?, bugs under skin, corpse kinks, death kink, honestly it's disgusting but also hot, idk honestly im sorry, soft, superhuman abilities
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-23 17:00:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30058647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jinsweeddealer/pseuds/jinsweeddealer
Summary: I suck at summaries lmao. Zadiel, a young man with an ability that stems from the maggots that live within his body, has found himself with some slightly unconventional desires and has to take matters into his own hands...literally
Relationships: Original Character(s)/Original Character(s)
Kudos: 1





	Beneath The Skin

Fingers trace lightly over his tanned skin an awe, watching as, just below the surface near his neck, near his waist, everywhere, there’s tiny slivers of movement beneath. While only a few {maybe 10…20 at most} are visible, she knows that there’s much MUCH more of the small creatures living inside of him. Some move quickly, outline disappearing from view if her fingers get to close, she can’t help but let out a small laugh at a thought that goes unspoken for a moment until he speaks up with a raised brow.

“somethin’ funny?”

“They look like they’re on a mission.” She says with another laugh, point towards two slightly larger creatures that seem to be making their way towards his ribcage. “Like they’re going somewhere important. Are they?”

He shakes his head. “They’re maggots. Nothing special, don’t even think they have a brain. Just kinda...move around. Live.” At least, as far as he knows. Zadiel can sense them there, he knows he’s connected to them in SOME way. They feed off his nourishment and body, and he can, in turn, do the same if he needs to. He knows they follow his basic commands and direction such as telling them mentally where to gather and how much. But as far as more complex thoughts, the maggots that he has control over do very little.

“Did you ever name them?” She asks curiously and it only makes him chuckle.

“Name them? Camille really?” Another laugh. “Fuck no, why would I?”

“I just guess, since they’re a part of you, you’d feel a little connected to them emotionally-” a shrug, watching as he sits up on his elbows and holds his hand out, palm up. It’s empty, but then he closes it, opening again to reveal a single, pale worm resting, there.

Then he crushes it, casually.

“Nothing. It’s...hard to describe. But you’re definitely trying to make it more complicated than it is. They’re like any other worms you find on dead shit out here, except they live inside me. I can control them a lil’ yeah but aside from that. They’re normal, nothing supernatural or extraordinary.” A pause. “Aaand, YOU’RE going to be late for work.” He glances over at his phone. “You had a night shift, didn’t you? It’s gonna be eight soon.”

“Oh shit! Really?” She jumps up, from her seat on the end of the couch, grabbing her bag and coat. “Shit, shit, we’re all still on for the picnic, tomorrow right? I’m bringing the ham sandwiches.” She’s rushing out the door, just barely hearing him call after her. “Yeah! Two on the dot, We’ll be there with the snacks and blankets.”

The door shuts, and Zadiel is left lounging on his worn, jade green, couch, a sigh that seems much louder now that he’s alone. His housemate will still be gone for at least another hour, their job keeping them out at all times of night now, so he had a bit more time to himself than he’d planned.

An itch on his shoulder reminded him instantly that he isn’t ACTUALLY alone. The **things** inside him, moving around, feeding off of him. He’s able to joke, talk about the strange ability that he acquired as a young teen, but when he did so, Zadiel often left out most of the more…gritty details. The fact that there was always an itch under his skin if he focused too much on them, some weird, uncomfortable feeling that he couldn’t ever ignore fully. There was also the craving, the sick and disgusting cravings whenever he thought about…rotting things. Dying bodies, decay, whenever he walked by it…thought about it…the creatures inside him got fidgety, as if they could SENSE food nearby. He was always hungry, almost ALWAYS. He could never be sure if it were him or the maggots, but almost every hour he could feel a hunger that never went away.

He stands up, brushing locs from in front of his face to look in the small and cracked mirror that hung in the hallway. Patches of lighter skin against his tan already made him stand out quite bit amongst some of his small friend group, hazel eyes that had a red tint to it {according to others anyway, he didn’t quite see it. But he did catch the occasional worm crossing across his retina}, hair that he’d been meaning to cut ages ago but never got around to it.

Looking closer, he watches as there’s movement beneath his shoulder, on his torso. It makes him sick, literally nauseous, but it’s barely noticeable next to the fact he’s starving, and the fact he’s…thinking about her again.

Not that he WANTS to. It’s always a different girl, some stranger he saw in the market, or some young woman he saw online in a photo. A different face, different expression, but always one same consistent.

Whenever he imagined them, they were always...dead. Not DEAD, but rotting, carcasses. Sometimes they were still a LITTLE alive, sometimes the movement was just the bugs. Flesh rotting, maggots pouring from wounds, a vision that would make anyone else sick, only raises that heat in his stomach. This time it’s Camille, he remembers the feather light touches on his skin. The fact she isn’t disgusted with his habits, the way his body works.

She should be, but she wasn’t. She WOULD be…if she knew.

“fuck.” He mutters under his breath, frustration and anger as his fist hits the wall. “Goddamnit.” Because now he’s thinking about how she’d look sprawled on the ground, as delicate as if she was laying relaxed on satin sheets, hair spread out like a halo...stained with blood and eyes glazed over. Cuts, an open wound, puss and guts exposed. He doesn’t even realize until just know he’s been palming himself through his sweats at the simple thought. A groan leaving his lips as he rests his forehead against the wall. He shouldn’t be doing this; it happens way too often and he HATES it.

But if he stops fighting it, just gets it over with then maybe he can just-

“ _shit_.” One hand is down his sweatpants, gripping his cock through his thin boxers and hissing through gritted teeth. He’s thinking about skin being sliced open, and festering and it makes him feel _dangerously_ good, heat pooling at his groin and when he feels the familiar twitch, he’s too long gone to pretend that he’s focused on anything other than the pleasure coursing through his entire body.

“ _fuck…_ ” **more. He needs _more_.**

He breathes, hand moving over the fabric, slipping underneath, pulling his dick out of its confines and hips involuntary bucking at the sudden contact. His own skin is an odd texture of cold and warm and it feels beyond amazing, unable to control his voice when he runs his thumb over the head. It’s always been sensitive there, he’s messy with precum, breathing ragged, he’s so close already but as quickly as he wants this to be over, he can’t help but slow down his movements, savoring the way he can feel the animals beneath his skin writhing, reacting.

Maggot infested wounds, yellowish and blackened around the edges. Imagery is vivid, as if he’s seen and experienced firsthand, and now he’s biting his lip to try and stifle the whimpers coming from him. Rising in pitch as he strokes himself faster, twisting his wrist and drowning in the feeling that’s quickly overtaking him. It’s almost animalistic, the way he’s thrusting up into his fist, legs trembling to the point where he isn’t sure he’ll be able to stand much longer. Zadiel’s mind is consumed in the pleasure, he can barely hear the part of him that’s screaming this is wrong, and he needs to stop. He NEEDS to stop.

**He’s suddenly thinking about her carcass, about ANY carcasses. How warm and wet they’d feel inside.**

_Shit_

**Intestines wrapped around his cock, squeezing him, so fucking warm compared to the cold of the surrounding body.**

_Fuck fuck fuck_

**It would be slick, easy, blood and fluids acting as lube. He’d slide in so easily; it would take him so well.**

A few more strokes, a loud groan and he’s tipping over the edge fast. Thrusts are sloppy and rushed, out of rhythm as he feels his balls tighten. His knees give out, kneeling to the ground and leaning back, hips rocking upwards, chasing after that high that’s so **SO** _fucking_ close that his brain is clouded, eyes are shut as his fists moves faster. The maggots are squirming, responding to his speeding heartbeat and increasing heart rate, restless. It should sicken him even more, but he barely notices besides the additional stimulation. “ _close_.” He manages to moan out to no one in particular. 

Every muscle in him tenses, preparing and then “ **shit, shit,** _ha-_ ”

Zadiel cums hard, it hits him like a train and out of nowhere, painting parts of the wall with white, cum leaking down and onto his hand. Cock twitches with every pump of _disgusting_ fluid that comes from him, leaving small, pleasant spasms running through his body.

He has to steady his breathing, coming down from the high after a few minutes, the feeling of his orgasm fading slower than they usually do {it’s always like this when he loses control}. When it starts to disappear, he looks down at his hand and is hit with a feeling of revulsion. He’s left nauseous, self-hatred coursing in his veins as he stands on shaky legs.

“Goddamnit...” he mutters, tired, going to grab tissues, a rag, something to clean up the mess he’s made. Sick to his stomach, throwing everything away and making his way to the bathroom. Pants and boxers are cast aside in haste, warm water is running and filling the room with light steam.

It soothes his skin, the heat causes everything inside of him to calm, though he’s never really known why. It clears his head, something he both needs and dreads.

“god I hate this…fuck, FUCK.” Frustrated and angry words that echo in the empty bathroom, tears prickle in the corners of his eyes. No one ever sees him like this, he won’t let them. The _tears_ , the **_needs_** , all of it pushed back as much as he can, doing the best he can to ignore every urge and feeling, cover it up with jokes and laughter.

Why couldn’t he have been NORMAL? Have some kind of ability that didn’t make him salivate at the sight of decaying roadkill.

He remembers past conversations, past friendships ruined when he discovered what he could do. The amount of people that ran from him, the number of people who’d been on his team and in his life for years suddenly throwing up at the sight of the movement in his body. Raya could give commands, Alyassa could grow plants, and here he was….

Some human maggot habitat. A living worm terrarium.

He spits into the tub, watching a maggot spin with the water, disappearing into the drain.

“Good Riddance.”

Now if only getting rid of the rest were that easy.

**Author's Note:**

> I can't believe I wrote this but also like, yeah I really can. Will I write more? Probably. Have I already written more? Y e s


End file.
